


Those Little Idiosyncrasies

by FriendlyFire



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Original Character(s), POV Original Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-08 12:35:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15930566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyFire/pseuds/FriendlyFire
Summary: Ah...! But Will, she’s been dead for 2 years, and that's the shit I remember: wonderful stuff you know? Little things like that. Those are the things I miss the most. The little idiosyncrasies that only I know about: that's what made her my wife. Oh she had the goods on me too, she knew all my little peccadilloes. People call these things imperfections, but they're not. Ah, that's the good stuff.- Sean Maguire(Robin Williams) - From Good Will Hunting





	1. It Began With a Question

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter has been revised as I realise I fucked up the timeline. LMAO!!!

            In 2018, Elijah Kamski founded CyberLife and created what is now known as the first android. In 2021 he released the RT600, or “Chloe”, which later passed the Turing Test the following year. In 2024, CyberLife started to sell androids for commercial use, a few years later, in 2027, CyberLife sells its millionth android. That same Elijah Kamski was named _Century_ magazines “ _Man of the Century_ ” a year later and resigned as CyberLife’s CEO.

            These events changed the course of history, and they world, forever. Ushering in a new age of technology and culture. Whether you owned an android or not, you had at least met one. They began taking over menial jobs, automation the main goal of their creation. To take the jobs humanity hated, much less want to do. Yet, there were still plenty calling for androids to be shut down and phased out of production. Taking jobs that were insisted not theirs. Even though those same callers mooched off the governments social aid every month and spun the system to feed their lazy, and often drug addled, lifestyles. There were, however, plenty who used the system properly. Using the government aid to propel them into getting an education and/or job, or at least tried to. But those were fewer and farther in between in the recent years.

            Eventually, people began to ask the existential question: do androids have a soul? It has since been heavily debated, while also asking the question: well, do we humans even have a soul?

            I was of the firm belief that anything that had the for mind for freewill, the mind to dream, to love, to fear, was a cognizant willful being. This belief, which should come as no surprise, was not a popular one. The overarching opinion of nearly anyone you could stop and ask on the street, was that an android was a machine. There to take orders from its human overlords and complete them to their approval. Androids were no more aware than a Roomba or a toaster.

            However, if the news breaking out was anything to go by, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Androids had begun to… _deviate_ from their programming. They had been attacking their owners, or as I called them slavers. Though no statement had been confirmed by the police, I sure as hell could guess as to why. I’d read enough online forums to know that people didn’t just really think of their androids as a moving fixture that completed their requested tasks. No, they’d begun to use them as their personal punching bag. Often abusing them, treating them like garbage and mostly viewing them about as much. ‘Droids were their voiceless, mindless outlet for their frustrations and petty jealousy. Or, as was often the case, even worse.

            More alarming were the protestors and anti-droid rioters. Androids were being found destroyed past recognition. Tied to the backs of cars and drug for miles, thrown off the side of bridges, beaten to a blue-blooded pulp of circuit and jagged plastic and left in an alleyway to be found by horrified android street cleaners. There were many more examples, but it turned my stomach foul just to think about them.

            I was a journalist for a local political news organization as a specialist writer. My job entailed gathering information on the rising tension and conflict between the people, the androids, and the government’s response to the ever-escalating situation. While our organization tried to remain unbiased, we sometimes asserted opinion. My job was specifically to produce personal commentary columns and reviews of current affairs and politics on the Android Conflict. I was very passionate about my job.

______________________________________________________________________________

            I walk into the Detroit Police Department, the raised heels of my ankle boots thumping the pale linoleum as I head towards my destination. As I pass by the secretary I give the VP800 a nod and continue. I knew that he knew why I was here, as I so often was, and made no move to stop me. Though it had been a few weeks since my last visit. He even gave me a small smile, one that I returned happily, “Good morning, Samuel.”

            The ring of his LED flickered blue as his smile widened, “Good morning.”

            The quiet of the front lobby began to change with the murmurs and shuffling of the bullpen as I progressed further down the hallway. Distant beeping and ringing of phones and devices reverberated the stark white walls and annoying dim white ceiling lights that cast the place in a constant state of dredging tedium and pressure.

            No one even pays me mind as I walk up to the man hunkering down at his desk, nursing a coffee with a look that could wilt daisies. “Well, I’ll be damned! Hank Anderson out of bed before 9:00am?” My voice breaks through the quiet din, gaining a few curious, though fleeting, glances.

            The man in question flinched before turning his withering gaze upon me. “Quiet the hell down, you little shit.”

            I just laugh at him and walk around to perch myself on his desk, heel hooking against the handle of one of the filing cabinets. “Now, now, Uncle Hank. You’re face might get stuck that way,” I pause and narrow my eyes, studying him, “or at least stuck worse.”

            Hank grunts in disgust, lip curling, “The hell do you want, Magnolia?”

            Raising my hands and eyebrows in innocence, I quickly respond, “What? I can’t come visit my favorite uncle for the first time in weeks?”

            “I’m your only uncle,” he asserts.

            “All the more reason why you’re my favorite!”

            He rolls his bloodshot eyes and takes a swig of his coffee, “Maggie, what do you want? Really? This better not be about another one of them articles of yours.” He eyes me incredulously.

            “Look Hank, I got a tip about an android killing its owner.” My question is stated blankly, emotion only leaking in at the last word. Feeling disgust in myself as I had to mutter the word.

            He leans back in his chair with a long-suffering sigh, salt-white hair falling back against his shoulders in a stringy curtain. _When was the last time he took a shower?_ I think worriedly. Hank had never been one to worry about his outer appearance much, but it had admittedly gotten much worse after what happened to Cole. A frown pulls at my lips for a moment before I resume my steely expression, waiting for Hank to respond.

            “Goddammit, Magnolia. How many times we gotta go through this?” His voice isn’t loud, but it does hold a parental undertone of reprimand,” I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know. I’m not falling for it this time, I’m not giving you anything. Fowler’s already up my fuckin’ ass as it is. You think I need ‘revealing sensitive case materials to the media’ added to my fucking saga of a penal file? Why the hell do you think I’m up at the ass crack of dawn to be at work?” I wasn’t going to mention that it was _hardly_ the ‘ass crack of dawn’ as he’d so eloquently put it, knowing it wouldn’t help my case. I rolled my eyes none the less.

            Completely ignoring his rant, I say, “I’m not asking you to reveal anything that’ll inhibit the case. I just want to know what happened to them. How did they die?” I lean forward, “More importantly, did you find the android?”

            My uncle levels me with a wavering glare, and once he sees that I have no intention of relenting, leans back in his chair with another sigh of anguish. “Look, you didn’t get this from me,” _not like they won’t assume, Uncle Hank_ , “but apparently the thing was abused.” I fold my hands in my lap, trying to keep my expression schooled, but the tale tell quirk of my brow said all that needed to be. Hank ignored it as he kept going, “It’d taken its last beating, evidently, when it fought back. The guy it attacked ended up dying. From what we’re getting it was around the 17th or 18th of October when the victim died. Landlord called in last night saying the tenant had failed to make the last three rent due dates.” He finishes by giving me a glare, “And _that’s_ all you’re gettin’.”

            Without moving a muscle, I fire, “Sounds like the asshole had it coming, if you ask me.”

            Hank began shaking his head, “Well, I’m not asking you. And you better watch your mouth before people start thinking you’re advocating murder. Might I remind you where you are?” He gestures to the room full of police.

            “Still a free county as far as I’m aware. Pretty sure saying someone deserved to be murdered isn’t the same as actually murdering someone.” All the answer I get is a gruff noise of derision as he turns to his computer. With my foot that was hooked to the filing cabinet of the desk, I reach out and push his wheelie chair to look at me.

            “What!?” He hollers in exasperation, shooting a glare at me.

            Folding my arms over my chest I pierce him with a look, “Hank, how have you been? Are you still going to that hole in the wall of a bar every night?”

            “How the hell do you think I’ve been? You got eyes, dontcha?” He scoffs in disgust, “And as for my drinkin’ habits, I don’t think they’re much ‘a your concern, kid.”

            With a huff, I stand up and am about to lay into him, when I hear someone walk up to Hank’s other side. My attention snaps away from my uncle to see who it is. Just as I’m about to yell a, ‘what the hell do you want’, at them I stop.

           

            Honey brown eyes framed by soft lashes are what I first notice. The very next thing, I hate to admit, is the flashing LED at the his temple. Then next are his clothes, standard CyberLife, and gentle, boyish facial features.

            “Hello, I’m Connor. I was sent on behalf of CyberLife to assist the Detroit Police Department in the ongoing investigation of deviants.” His generic response was a bit jarring but expected. Though it was saved by the pleasant voice that they’d synthesized for him.

            “Uh…” I reply intelligently, “hi?” My eyebrows crinkle, taken aback by his sudden approach.

            On que, Hank laments his life once again, “God, I forgot about this fuckin’ thing. The hell you want, Connor? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

            Connor, apparently was his name, turns his stare from me to regard my uncle, “I was simply curious about who was able to get you to say more than three words at such an early hour. If my scan is correct, you received no more than three hours, twenty-seven minutes, and fifty-eight seconds of rest this morning after last night’s investigation.”

            Attention gone from Connor, I whip my head to Hank, “What!?”

            “Fuck’s sake, Connor, now you’ve gone and gotten her started!” He wails.

            I stand up to stare down at him in his chair, “Hank you need to start taking better care of yourself.” My tone is angry, but its also laced with worry. Worry for him. Our family has gradually grown smaller and smaller these past few years, and the thought of something happening to h-. No. I had to stop that train of thought.

            Hank shoots Connor another pissed look before his face transitions to one that was more supplicant. “Look, Maggie, you know my job makes me work long hours with little time for myself in between. I try, but it gets hard sometimes. Give me a break, okay?” His voice had never been capable of being anything but crochety as of late, but he tried to sound pleading.

            Sighing after a few beats of silence, I finally acquiesce. As I put a hand to my temple, I close my eyes. “I get it, Hank, you know I do.”

            Hank is silent as he waits for me to continue.

            After another few moments, I take my hand away and give him a small smile, “How about we start up our weekly dinners again? It’d be good to see you regularly, if you can make time for me during one of your days off.”

            My uncle seems like he’s going to complain, but then thinks better of it. “That sounds fine, Magnolia. That sounds fine.”

            With a smile I lean down and give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Good. I’ve missed you, Hank. I know things have been picking up around here, what with all the madness going on, but I’d still like to make time for each other. Especially _considering_ all that’s happening.”

            He reaches up and pats me on the back lightly, “Yeah, yeah. You’re embarrassing me in front of the walking appliance, kid.”

            That was when I remembered Connor was still standing there. He’d been so motionless and silent, constantly observing our interaction, that I’d gone and forgotten he was even there.

            Connor pipes up at the mention of himself, “Not to worry, detective. There is no need to be self-conscious. It is good to see that there is someone concerned for your wellbeing beyond myself.” His honest eyes return to me again, casting their ray of analyzing warmth over my person.

            “Shut up,” Hank rebuffs. I reach over and pinch Hank on the arm, “Hey!” He yelps. “What the hell was that for?!”

            Shooting him a scathing glare, I chastise, “Be nice.”

            “Whatever! Can I get to work or are you gonna fuckin’ stand there and bother me all damn day?!” He complains. “Just what I need! Another nuisance getting in my way while I try to get shit done and do my damned job!”

            I roll my eyes, “ _For once_ ,” I mutter. Continuing louder, “Whatever, Hank. Quit your whining, you’re starting to sound like the millennial no one will let you forget you are.”

            At this point he’s just started to ignore me. Typical.

            “Yeah, yeah, bye to you too, asshole.” I can’t help the amusement in my voice at his pettiness. I turn my attention to Connor as I make my way around Hank’s desk and towards the exit. “It was nice meeting you,” I smile at him, “Try not to take anything this old fart says to you personally, sugar, he’s just gotten so old he’s forgotten how to be polite, is all.”

            His LED briefly flickered yellow, “I believe my emoting sensors are detecting sarcasm in your tone. However, to be sure you know I’ve found no evidence that the detective suffers from Alzheimer’s or the like.” His eyebrows even quirked in confusion.

            “Pfft! He’s funny,” I turn to Hank, jabbing a thumb Connor’s way, “how come you’re so mean to him?” He still ignores me, the asshole. When I turn back to Connor, he’s regarding me curiously.

            “I’m not sure what you find so amusing, but at least you are not yelling at me as the detective so often does.” His smile is sincere, and it feels like a sunbeam decided to crack the ceiling and shine on where we were standing. He was charming, that’s for certain.

            “Well aren’t you just as pleasant as a slice of warm apple pie on a chilly day!” I commend in a teasing tone.

            Again, it takes him a moment to process my unique turn of phrase, before he’s smiling, if a bit more forced.

            Pulling out my phone I peek at the time, “Is it already nine-thirty?” I murmur askance.

            “Time to get going, I presume?” Connor falls back into the protocols of polite conversation.

            I hum with a nod, “I’m afraid so. But hey, like I said, try not to let him get to you. It just takes him awhile to warm up to people.”

            He nods briefly, “I shall take your word for it, Miss Sharp.”

            Giving him a weird look, I remember he probably already knows my basic information. “Hey, just Magnolia, please. Miss makes me sound like some primary school teacher,” I chuckle.

            “Of course. I’ve registered your preferred form of designation within my data banks as you’ve requested.” The brunette confirms obediently.

            I let out an awkward breath of a laugh, and nod before moving to walk past him. “Have a good one, sugar.”

            “Goodbye, Magnolia. I hope you have a pleasant rest of your day,” was his cheerful reply.

            He was about as socially cognizant as the next android, though he certainly felt warmer than most. Probably programmed and trained to be more emotionally receptive for interrogating suspects, I assumed.

            As I exited the DPD, I threw a wave at Samuel who nodded his farewell back at me as I left.


	2. Wake Up Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright kids. If you didn't see, I altered the last chapter because I effin' SUCK! If you wouldn't mind rereading it, I'd love you eternally. Thanks! (Did I mention I suck! I sure as shit suck at timelines, that's for sure!)

            Throwing a leg over my bike, I swipe the kick stand up with the foot of my other. I’d already pulled my helmet out of the back compartment and began to tuck my hair up into it. It always took a minute or two to push each unruly strand of red up into it, but I couldn’t stand my hair whipping around behind me. After I finished, I slid my hands into a pair of gloves and sunk the key into the ignition of the sleek black cruiser.

            It roared to life instantly, and I gave the transmission a few revs, making sure it was all good to go. Mirrors were in place and the brakes still seemed tight when I gave them a testing tug. Shuffling my legs back and forth upon each side, I began to back up and turned my head to check to see if I was clear of any on coming traffic. I was all clear and got halfway out into the driving lane of the parking lot when a green jeep came ploughing fifty miles an hour around the corner of the entrance.

            Quickly snapping into action, I rev my engine, so I fly forward, shiny green bumper just _barely_ skimming by my tail. I throw the bike onto its kickstand, turning it off in the process, and flip my helmet’s visor up to yell at whoever was driving the jeep. Jumping off my bike, I make my way towards the jeep that still idled just a few yards away from where they’d almost clipped me. When I get up to the tinted window, I knock on it in an agitated staccato.

            “Open up asshole, before I break this window and pull you out through it!” My voice thick with fury.

            The window easily rolls down with a mechanical whine, allowing me to see my would-be-killer. “Listen, I would calm down if I were you. Ol’ Hank can only get you outta so much trouble. You should already be in cuffs for threatening an officer of the law,” came a sickeningly cocky voice, accompanied by a just as vomit inducing smirk, attached to a _very punchable face._

            “ ** _Reed_** ,” I grit his name out in a seething tone.

            Gavin Reed winks at me, making my wish to demolish his face with my fist even more rampant. “The one and only, babe. Now, if you don’t mind, I gotta get to work. Doing a job that matters. Where I help people, and not waste my energy writing philosophical mumbo-jumbo about shit no one cares about.”

            Pursing my lips, I scrutinize him, “I can’t help if someone with the IQ of a fish tries to read my columns. They’re not for people like that. If that sounds elitist, its only because I don’t have time to educate such people with basic facts in life. Instead, I try to engage with those who actually have basic retention skills to build a dialogue towards finding a common ground upon which we can all stand on before we burn up any that still remains.” I lean into his window, “If anything, I’m just trying to make your job easier, _Officer._ People tend to kill each other less when they don’t hate each other just cause.”

            Gavin rolls his eyes, “Are you done, yet? Look I’m sorry I almost hit you. Can we just move on? No one got hurt.” His brow lifts as he fixes me with an expectant stare.

            With a scoff I roll my eyes in return, “DPD’s finest.” I turn away and head towards my bike, “Whatever, Gavin. As if you’ll ever be interested in anything past the tip of your own nose.” I hop on my bike and quickly back out and speed off in a huff. “ _What an asshole_ ,” I can barely hear myself shout over the frigid air whipping past me as I drive. That’s when I realize my visor is still up, and I slap it shut.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

            With my hood up over my head, eyes down, I shove my hands in my pockets and walk down the wet pavement of the sidewalk. From what I was reading on the tip forums I managed, Carlos Ortiz lived somewhere around here. Hopefully the cops would already be cleared out, so I could snoop. I’d parked my bike a few blocks away so I could remain as nondescript as possible. I was thankful that my attire consisted mostly of black with a few colored accents of muted green, allowing me to go further unnoticed. It was luckily still drizzling out, as well, the sky overcast, leaving Detroit in a state of greyscale twilight.

            Peeking up from under the brim of my hood, I see the holographic caution tape surrounding what must’ve been Ortiz’ home. There wasn’t any cops around, but I knew that there was probably a cruiser patrolling the area. Not wanting to cross paths with them, I suddenly broke from my path on the sidewalk and along the fence towards the backyard. Once back there, I hopped the fence. Noticing the soft soil in the backyard towards the back porch, I steered myself clear.

            There was a railing along the side of the porch, so much like the fence, I throw my leg over the banister and push myself over. Falling into a semi-crouch, I creep up to the backdoor. Creaking the screen door open, I give a fruitless tug to the inner door and find it unsurprisingly locked. With an air of familiarity, I fish into the pocket of the lining in my leather jacket. Pulling out the lockpicking kit, I swiftly set into unlocking the door.

            After a minute or two the door swings open with a soft wail of rusting metal. The house was old, and the smell that reached my nostrils had me retreating to dry heave on the deck. “Fuck, that’s rancid,” my voice is hoarse from the gagging. From what I’d read, Ortiz had been rotting in his living room for nearly three weeks. That would explain the smell. I vainly wrap my scarf tightly around my lower face and nose, trying to filter the smell. Though my perfume didn’t help much, simply blending rancid carcass and jasmine into a dreadful frankenstine of aromas that made my stomach continue to churn.

            Pushing through it, I try to block the smell out by focusing on the darkened interior of the nightmare house. The first thing to catch my attention is the large back stain on the living room floor past the kitchen. Next were the words ‘ _I am alive’_ written in perfect script on the wall above. The house was a mess, to put it lightly. It looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since 1996, with the décor adding to that fact. The walls were yellowing, wallpaper peeling. Pictures torn from what looked like sports magazines haphazardly pasted or pinned to the wall near a tv stand without a tv.

            Tables and chairs had been upended onto the floor, most likely in the brawl that had occurred here nearly three weeks ago. It added to the state of disarray that had taken over the home. A chill ran up my spine at the thought of someone dying here. He was a dickhead, sure. That android had acted in self defense as far as I was concerned, but someone was still dead. It was a scary thought, androids rising against their masters and taking over.

            Yet a part of me felt like, if they truly were intelligent life like I believed, they wouldn’t be so hostile. They’d see the merit of peacefully gaining their freedom through displays and calls for amity.

            Shrugging off the thought, I began to rummage through the kitchen, searching for anything of note about Carlos Ortiz. I still had my gloves on, so I wouldn’t leave fingerprints. Pressing on into the hall, I find the bathroom and am taken aback at all the crazy writings on the wall. ‘rA9’ written over and over and over a million times upon the filthy walls of the shower and bathroom. Some of the scrawling even spilling over onto the mirror over the sink. I pull out my phone from my pocket and take a few hasty pictures. I wanted to document the living room, later as well.

Moving onto the bedroom, I found a desk littered with receipts and empty Chinese take-out boxes with rotten leftovers that had begun to leak out onto the papers beneath. Avoiding those, I opted for opening the drawer on the side, finding a cluttered pile of miscellaneous objects and office supplies along with some papers. Picking through them, I found a document dated from a couple years ago.

            Scrolling my eyes over it, I find that it’s a certification of a stay with a psychiatric hospital. Apparently, he’d been checked in several times in 2036. The document even alluded to prior stays in previous years. Sorting through the other papers left me with nothing else of import, so I began to put the items back into the drawer the way they’d been.

            That was when I heard something shifting in the front of the house. I’d just closed the drawer when I realize it’s the front door. Alarm bells go off in my head, as I peek down the hall. That’s when I hear the staticky voice of someone talking over a radio. I know I have seconds to do something before I’m caught.

            “God, you weren’t kidding,” the cop must be answering the warbled voice on the other end of her radio, “it smells like shit.”

            “ _Worse than shit.”_ I can understand the voice on the radio now. She’s getting closer.

            Glancing around the room, I make the heartbeat decision to hide in the closet. Luckily the door is already ajar wide enough for me to squeeze through. I begin to back up into it, facing the slit in the sliding door, when my foot hits a weak spot in the wall behind me. Still facing the opening, I crouch down and feel with my hand behind me. Pressing against where I felt the weak spot, I feel it give way and push in. That’s when I realize it’s a hole in the wall patched up with some cardboard. The hole is just shorter than my head as I crouch. I hear the bathroom door down the hall creak open and realize that the police officer would be here soon.

            With little choice, I reserve myself to slide the cardboard aside and crawl into the tight space between the wall. Just as the door to the bedroom swings open wider, I push the cardboard back into place, heart in my throat. It was dark, and the smell from the living room had seeped into every inch of the house it seemed, as I could still smell the stale stench of rotting corpse. I tried to steady my breathing and stop myself from fidgeting as I waited for the officer to check over the room.

            “ _Find anything, Coleman?_ ” I hear the voice over the radio question.

            My stomach drops as I hear the closet door begin to shuffle open. It gets stuck midway through opening and I can see the faint light of a flashlight shine inside the closet from the other side of the opening covered by a pathetic bit of cardboard at my feet.

            The officer is quiet for a few seconds, before I hear her back away with a shrug in her voice, “Nah. Its clear. If that old woman calls again, tell her she’s insane.”

            “ _You know she tried to tell me she thought it was an android, too_?” The radio sounded just as annoyed.

            Scoffing, the cop chuckles, “Crazy old bat.”

            Their voices begin to fade, and I can just make out the noise of her opening the front door to leave. I know she’s gone when the house rattles with her shutting the door behind her. I let out a sigh I wasn’t aware I’d been holding. Not taking a moment longer than necessary to calm down my heart rate, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone to use its flashlight. It blinks to life the instant I touch the button and I cast its light around the tight quarters of the hidey hole I’d discovered. Much like the bathroom, I found the walls to be covered in that haunting term ‘ _r_ _A9_ ’. Unlike it, however, was that it was filling every possible square inch of visible space to the point of fixation. Well past fixation, honestly. Some areas it was even drawn in so deep it had begun to dig into the drywall.

            I took a few pictures and quickly extricated myself from the space, stomach feeling fluttery with the disturbing discovery and almost being caught. When I was in the bedroom proper again, I took a moment to gather myself and try to brush off the lingering feeling of dread that hung over me. I retrieved the document of Ortiz’ hospital stays and took a picture of that, before putting it away again. Returning to the living room, I took some more pictures of that area before leaving the house. I crouched down to relock the door I’d entered through, and quickly made my way back to the sidewalk as stealthily as I could. Making sure my hood was still securely over my head, leaving my scarf around my face to further conceal my identity, I made a beeline towards where I left my bike.

            It wasn’t until I was well on my way towards my office, that I’d begun to feel my heart rate decrease. I’d been in similar positions of almost getting caught by police before, but never in such a high-stake crime scene. Never the location of a murder.

            I prayed that my luck would never run out.

______________________________________________________________________________

            My knuckles wrapped against the door of my supervisor’s office. I heard a beckoning call to come in and pushed the door open.

            “Sawyer,” I greet my boss. “Have you seen the rough draft of the article I wrote up, yet?”

            He was still facing his screen when he held a finger indicating a moment was necessary. I watched him while he was presumably reading the last bit of the draft. Sawyer was a broad guy, probably around 6’3”. He kept his sandy blond hair shoulder length and usually pulled back. He was originally from Australia, and you could tell just by looking at him he used to be a surfer. As to why he moved to Detroit, I still hadn’t found out, but it seemed like it was a touchy subject that I’d stopped bringing up the topic. He had a big-bro vibe, I supposed, and he’d taken me under his wing ever since I’d started working with the _Detroit Mirror_ four years ago. I’d been a year and a half out of college, and during a last-ditch effort I decided to apply to one last place before dramatically reserving myself for a life of waitressing. Sawyer had been my interviewer and apparently saw something he liked in me, as I got hired on the spot. I’d been with the network ever since.

            The sound of him twisting around in his chair brings me back to the present.  I turn my attention to him from the chair I’d situated myself in. His face is unreadable, hand under his chin, as he stares at me. “This is some next level journalism, Mags.” His voice, which normally had a playful lilt to it, was grave. “Do you have any idea what this means? This-this, ‘ _deviation_ ’ that you continue to mention is unprecedented. This could have absurd ramifications if it isn’t addressed soon.”

            I tilt my head, “What do you mean?”

            He shakes his head as if surprised I’m not following something obvious, “They could _annihilate_ us all within a matter of weeks, Magnolia. They could demolish humanity.”

            I nod, “Yes. They could also just as likely seek out their freedom peacefully.”

            He scoffs. Sawyer agreed that androids were sentient beings, but he was not a ‘fan’ of them, per se. He figures, anyone with the ability to freewill is inevitably going to use that freewill to cause harm. Sort of the Hobbes philosophy that we’re all selfish assholes and shouldn’t be expected to stray from such behavior unless it benefits us. I disagreed, favoring more of the Locke philosophy that we were all born blank slates and made conscious decisions. We chose to be good, or we chose to be evil. We always have a choice.

            He rolls his blue eyes at me, as if to say ‘ _yeah, and we’ll all live happily-ever-after, too_.’

            “Look, you hired me because you believed my p-.”

            “Perspective was one to pay attention to,” he finishes my sentence for me, “Yeah, Mags. I said that. I remember. I also stand by what I said.” Sawyer crosses his legs and fixes me with one of his hard stares. The ones that made me force myself not to fidget under. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing before you start riots in the streets. If we release this to the public…” His voice trails off.

            The chair creaks beneath me as I sit forward, “I firmly believe that the city has a right to know this. They need to understand and be informed that what they are doing is _harming_ feeling, thoughtful beings. These aren’t just human-looking machines. They _are_ human. In the most important ways, anyhow.” My hands grip each other where they hang between my legs.

            Sawyer sighs, long and heavy. “I’ve learned over these last few years to listen to you when you get this serious about something. That intuition of yours is always right. I can see now it must run in the family, what with your uncle being a detective. He was the youngest lieutenant in Detroit PD’s history, wasn’t he?”

            I nod, mind already wondering from the conversation as I thought of revisions to make of the article. “Yeah, he was. Hey, will you proofread my work? I need to go start my own revision process, myself.”

            The blonde chuckles and can I detect him nodding in my peripheral as I get up and head for the door. “Sure thing, Mags.”

            The rest of the day is spent reviewing and rewriting. I knew the risks of releasing this to the public. I also knew if the DPD had a mind to, they could ask just how I got this evidence and information, and Hank or my tip forums wouldn’t always be enough of an excuse. This was a risk I was willing to take, however. It was important to this city. Maybe even this country. I’m to afraid of what it might mean to the world. This whole deviancy thing was scary no matter what way you thought about androids. Hell, I knew if I was in their position I wouldn’t be so kind to the people who’d been using me as a slave. Never questioning how I felt, just take, take, taking what they needed or wanted from me. Half the time treating me like shit, like I was worth nothing more to them than their television. Serving to amuse them and carry out work they considered beneath them

            Yeah, the more I thought about it. The more it drove me to perfecting this article to ignite a fire under Detroit’s ass to become more aware of themselves. Before it was too late.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

            It was the next day when I woke up to my phone ringing. I had spent all last night and halfway through the day editing when I finally finished my work. I was a perfectionist when it came to my writing and refused to leave my desk until it was up to both my and Sawyer’s standards. I had still driven home, much to the disapproval of Sawyer, but refused to leave my baby parked in some parking lot away from her safe garage.

Still groggy from sleep, I smack around the table at my bedside. Finally, I feel the sleek glass of my phone’s screen underneath my fingertips and pick it up. I swipe to accept the call without even opening my eyes to see the caller id.

“Whadda ya want,” my voice comes out in a grouchy slur.

“Hello. This is Connor, the android from CyberLife. Is this Magnolia?” The generic monotone of Connor’s voice cuts through the speaker.

Snapping upright, now completely awake, I check the time of the clock on the bedside table. The holographic numbers indicated it was nearly eight o’clock at night.

“Shit, yeah. What’s up, Connor?” I quickly sober up, alerted by a sudden phone call from this guy I barely knew.

I could hear the shuffle of fabric and the light pattering of rain in the background as I paused for his response. “I seem to be unable to find Lieutenant Anderson. I checked his usual bar and even a few others around the area, but he was not present. I’m currently at his listed place of residence and he is not answering the door, nor is his vehicle missing.”

            Yawning, I scrub some crusty sleep from my eyes and reply, “He’s probably just drank himself to sleep like usual. I have a key to his place. Give me, like, ten minutes and I’ll be there to let you in. I don’t live very far.”

“That would be very helpful, thank you. I considered breaking the window but thought better of it. Knowing he had family, I presumed you might have an idea where he could be or a way into the house.” I listened to Connor with my shoulder pressing the phone to my ear as I fumbled in the low-lit room to slide jeans up my legs.

“No problem, Connor. I’ll be ready soon. Just wait for me until then.” I put the phone down and put on speaker while I pulled on a basic t-shirt, tucking it into my jeans as I grabbed a belt.

His voice sounded clearly from the devices speaker, “I’ll see you soon, Magnolia. Drive safely.”

“You got it, sugar.” The call cut off, and I finished getting ready.

I ran my fingers through the mess of my wavy red hair until it was presentable, before throwing on a pair of ankle boots and my favorite leather jacket. I made my way out of my apartment and down the stairs towards the underground garage where I parked Ezra. Yes. My bike had a name, and it was metal. Now shove off.

It didn’t take me more than five minutes until I was pulling up along the familiar silhouette of my uncle’s home. It’d felt like too long had past since I’d checked in with him, but I hadn’t wanted to bother him. Especially when he’d been so busy.

I spy Connor standing on the front porch, just barely, however, as the porchlight was off. Parking my bike next to my uncle’s car in the drive, I pull my helmet off and hang it on one of the handles. Hopping off and heading over to Connor, I run a hand through my hair to get it to lay right. “Hey, sug, sorry to make you wait.”

The cool light of his LED cast the porch in a blue haze. “It isn’t any trouble. However, I must insist we hurry, as the Lieutenant and I are needed somewhere.”

Interesting. “Where would that be?” I test, to see if I can pull any information out of him.

Connor must read something in my face, because he simply says, “It is for a case.”

Damn. “I see…” My words drift, eyes glancing away before they return, “Well, then we’d better see what’s keeping Hank.” I give him a wry grin.

I shuffle in my coat pocket for my ring of keys. Shuffling with them in my hands, I find the one I’d painted white with little sunflowers to indicate which was for Hank’s place. The key fits in the lock and I hear the tumblers click into place. When I swing the door open, I hear Sumo barking, paws pounding on the floor as he dashes to see who’s at the door.

“Sumo sit!” I say in a soft but stern tone. Immediately, the St. Bernard obeys and sits on his bottom, whining for pets and attention. I feel Connor peek behind my shoulder, “I suppose it is a good thing you came, as I haven’t much experience with dogs.”

I laugh, “Its alright. Just like Hank, he’s all bark no bite.”

Stepping inside, I make room for Connor to step in as I close the door. Reaching over, I turn on the light and grimace at the state the place was in. It smelt musty and rubbish littered nearly every surface and even some of the floor. “Ugh, this is why I should check on him more often. Otherwise this place falls into complete chaos.”

I move towards the kitchen, as that was the only light on when we entered. My heart plummets as soon as I see Hank on the ground, gun laying next to one side, bottle of booze and pills on the other. “Hank!” I cry, falling to my knees beside him. Connor moves to his other side, as I start to shake his shoulders. “Hank what did you do?! Hank answer me!” His eyes try and fail to open several times, his mouth spluttering incomprehensible noises.

I’m trying not to become hysterical, tears threatening to spill over. He gets like this: the drinking, the pills. But I’ve never seen the gun before. The gun was alarming.

Slightly, I register Connor calling out to my uncle as well. Giving him his registration, when suddenly his hand shoots out and smacks him across the face; _hard_.

“What the hell, Connor!” I’m not angry too long, however, as I hear Hank start to mumble something under his breath. Which smells thick with the sour stink of liquor.

The android begins to pick him up, “Magnolia, would you mind assisting me. I believe he is simply in an ethylic coma.”

Without thinking about why or what his words mean, I help him lift my uncle. We both sling one of his arms over our shoulders.

“Hey! Leave me alone, you fuckin’ android!” His head swivels sloppily to his other side, “Magnolia, what the hell are you doin’ here?!”

Connor sounds patronizing as he responds, “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I need you.” We both lift him, his arms slung over our shoulder, “I thank you in advance for your cooperation.”

Hank isn’t listening, or just doesn’t care. Seeming to forget I’m even there he shouts, “ _Hey! Get the fuck outta hereeeeee!_ ”

We begin to shuffle him out of the kitchen and down the hall. I’m running on autopilot, letting Connor take control, still trying to get the image of my uncle unconscious on the floor passed out with a gun in his hands.

“ _Sumo, attack!_ ” Hank slurs the command at his dog. He just barks happily bouncing around our feet. “ _Good, dog!_ ”

Not in the mood to play, I snap, “Sumo, go lay down!”

Giving a small whine, he once again obeys and lays down at the start of the hallway, watching as we usher his owner down the hall.

It doesn’t take me long to figure out where he plans on taking him. Connor lets my uncle go, leaving me to hold his whole weight. It isn’t too hard, but I won’t be able to walk with him long by myself.

“ _Fuck, I think I’m gonna be sick…_ ” Hank warns.

Unimpressed, I advise, “Hank if you puke on me I’m gonna make you clean your own fuckin’ house.”

The brunette opens the door to the cramped bathroom, and I begin to pull him towards it.

Apparently, Hank decides he doesn’t _want_ to go there, as he complains, loudly, “ _Ah! Leave me alone, you assholes! I’m not goin’ anywhere…_ ” His hand shoots out and grasps the door jam. My mood, already sour, turns pissed as I roughly pull him. His grasp easily fails, and I continue to half carry him towards the tub. Connor seemingly agreeing with my idea pulls him from my hold.

“ _What the hell’re you doin’? Ugh…_ ” He moans.

Unceremoniously, the android plops my uncle into the tub. He catches himself and stand back up, “Oh no,” he’s started to sober already, “I don’t wanna bath, thank you…”

Fed up with this, I shove Connor aside, “Enough, Hank. Get the fuck in the tub,” I push him, not being as kind as I’m sure Connor would have been.

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” I can hear humor in the android’s voice at my actions, “its for your own good.”

“I’m not,” I deadpan as I reach over and turn the freezing water on.

His reaction is immediate, thrashing and wailing like a crazy man. “TURNITOFF! TURNITOFF!!!!”

The brunette standing beside me pauses for a few second before reaching to do as asked. I grab his wrist and gently pull him back, a wicked grin pulling at my lips. “Now, now Connor. I think he needs to sit in there a bit longer, don’t you?”

Apparently sensing my intentions, he silently watches my face as I take pleasure in my uncle’s flailing. He deserved it after scaring me like that. A few more moments pass before I reach over and shut the water off.

“You had enough, you prick? Or do I need to turn it on again?” I threaten him as he blearily blinks through the water in his eyes.

Gasping, he stares back and forth between the two of us. Finally, he croaks, “What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

Before I have a chance, Connor explains, “A homicide was reported 43 minutes ago. I couldn’t find you at Jimmy’s bar, so I came to see if you were at home. When you didn’t answer the door or my calls, I called your niece to see if she knew where you were. She kindly let me in.”

With heroic effort, Hank lifts himself to sit on the edge of his tub. “Jesus, I must be the only cop in the world that gets assaulted in his own house by his own fuckin’ android…” He takes in a deep breath and lifts his head to shake it at said android, “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

Displeased at having been forgotten, I slap the back of his head, “What am I? Chopped liver? You got some kinda nerve to pretend like I’m not here! You scared the fuck outta me, Hank! I thought you were dead!”

His head whips towards me, his grey hair flogging water across the tiles and walls. “The fuck are you doin’ here? You let this shithead into my house?!”

My hands on my hips I nod emphatically, “I sure as shit did, Hank. I sure as shit did! God help you if I hadn’t too! You looked half-dead when we found you!”

Putting a hand to his head he moans, “Argh! Get the fuck outta my house! Both of you!”

I’m about to yell at him some more, when Connor cuts in, “Maybe you should drop the case. They’ll assign someone else and I can focus on my mission.”

I fold my arms across my chest, eyebrows furrowing at his sudden aggression. I mean I couldn’t blame him, I was obviously pissed too; just surprised.

A sharp, cold thing of a chuckle leaves Hank’s mouth, “Your goddamn _mission_ , that’s all you care about, huh?”

“Listen, Lieutenant, you’re not yourself. You should-”

“Beat it! You hear me?! Get the hell outta here!” His voice sounded scary enough that even I jumped at his words. He was a depressed drunk most of the time, until you riled him up. He stood at the end of his tirade, nearly falling. Connor and I reach out at the same time, him grabbing his waist, me putting a hand behind his back. We gently sit him back down on the tub’s ledge. He grunts in submission.

The brunette’s LED flashes blue, before he speaks calmly, “I understand. I sincerely hope you come to terms with your personal situation.”

I think of saying something as he begins to march away, Hank waving him off, nearly falling off the tub in doing so.

I don’t get the chance as Hank perks up, “This homicide… Whadda we know about it?”

Connor abruptly stops, head cocking to look behind him. He briefly looks at me and decides he’d rather keep the Lieutenant’s attention than keep me in the dark. Deeming whatever he was about to tell him reasonable information to reveal.

“A man was found dead in a sex club downtown.” He stops and looks at me again, and without breaking eye contact, resumes talking “The report says that an android may be involved.” I buzz with questions but stamp down the feeling. _Interesting._

Grunting again, Hank offhandedly claims, “You know, probably wouldn’t do me any harm to get some air.” Grabbing his stomach, he glances up at me before looking down again. “There’re some clothes in the bedroom there.”

Walking up to Connor, I put a hand on his shoulder, “Come on, Connor, lets give the old fart some space. Let’s go pick out something embarrassing for him to where as punishment!”

I hear a groan sound behind us at my words and give a cruel laugh it his misfortune. Connor throws a curious look behind his shoulder before turning it to my face.

When we get into the dark bedroom, I head over to the closet, gesturing for Connor to come over. “Pick something out.”

“What does he like to wear?” His brown eyes quirk in question.

“Fuck him, what do you like?” I ask, curious what he’ll decide.

His LED flashes yellow for a split second, before he turns his attention to the closet. “What do I like?” He murmurs.

He idles for a few moments before reaching out and touching the black and white streaky shirt. I’m trying to contain my laughter as he pulls it from the rack _. Yes, Connor, you Rockstar. Make him suffer,_ I think in glee. “I like this one,” he decides.

“Truly, a marvelous decision, my friend,” my voice betrays some of my twisted delight. He, however, must interpret it differently, because I see him perk up at my approval. Cute.

I help him pick out a matching jacket and pants and wander over to Hank’s dresser to get him some clean underwear and socks. I gather it all into a bundle and walk over to Connor.

Handing him the bundle, I gesture for the brunette to give Hank the clothing he picked out. With a nod he heads towards the bathroom. “Are you alright, Lieutenant?” I hear him ask sweetly.

Hank coughs harshly, then answer haggardly, “Yeah… yeah… wonderful… Just, uh, gimme five minutes, okay?”

“Sure,” he easily agrees.

Not two seconds pass before Connor’s withdrawing footsteps are taken over by the loud retching of Hank followed by a nasty splashing as the contents of his stomach plop into the porcelain bowl of the toilet.

I shudder and hear the bathroom door shut. Heading towards the hallway, I meet Connor there. I smile at him, “Thanks for helping him, I’m sorry you had to deal with this.”

He smiles, brown eyes lifting in response, “Not to worry. If it means completing my mission, then it isn’t of any problem.”

A breathy chuckle escapes my lips as I regard him inquisitively, “Well, I still appreciate it.” Turning towards the living room and kitchen I sigh heavily, “I’m… going to try and tidy up the place a bit while he puts himself together in there. Go ahead and have a look around, I’m sure Hank won’t mind.” I turn towards him after that, “If he does, well, meh. Fuck him.” I laugh at myself.

His head tilts, before a chuckle forces its way out of his mouth.

I give him a strange look, before walking down the hall, “Y’know you don’t have to laugh if you don’t find something funny.”

Going to the kitchen, I retrieve a garbage bag out from under the sink, also grabbing some cleaning gloves and slipping them on. I hear him respond as I do, “I did think it was funny. Was my laugh not convincing?”

Snorting, “No you didn’t, and no it wasn’t, because you didn’t find it funny.” I begin to pick up all the trash in the kitchen. I hear Connor step into the room to observe my actions. When I get to the kitchen table I find a familiar frame sitting face down on the table. I frown, picking it up. Cole’s sweet face looks up at me, forever frozen at age six. It had been his first picture day at school. He had been so excited for kindergarten and was one of the few kids I’d ever met who enjoyed going to school and learning every day. I remember on days Hank or his ex were busy when I’d pick him up and let him ride on my bike with me to the park.

Grimacing, I try not to linger any longer, putting the frame back facedown.

After the table is cleared I move to pick up the living room, leaving the gun and bottle of liquor for last.

When I stood from picking up the last scrap of trash from the floor, I spy Connor petting Sumo on the ground. “He’s a good boy. Hank’d be all alone half the time without ‘im.”

At the sound of my voice, he looks at me, “He has you, doesn’t he?”

I shrug, “Yeah, but we’re both so busy half the time, anymore. It’s hard to see each other.”

Connor nods, “I see.” He pauses, “Well, I hope for both of your sakes you’ll be able to make more time for each other. The Lieutenant could use familial support in his life right now.”

I laugh humorlessly, “You’re preaching to the choir, sugar.” Making my way over to the front door, I open it and set the full bag of garbage next to the entryway outside. Moving back in, I close the door. That’s when I feel the firm expanse of someone’s chest press against my back. I jump, “Woah!”

“My apologies, I was simply curious about something.” He expresses regret.

Shaking my head, I smile uneasily, “No problem, sugar.”

“Ah!” He exclaims, “That!”

“Huh?” I hum in confusion.

“What you keep calling me. Is that not a term of endearment?” He sounds positively mystified.

“Oh! That!” I proclaim. “Uh, yes. Yes, it is. Is it making you uncomfortable? I can stop,” I offer, worriedly.

His LED flashes yellow for the second time tonight, before he tentatively shakes his head, “No… You don’t have to.” His voice is quiet. Almost like he might get in trouble for having a preference for something he wasn’t told to have.

Smiling warmly to reassure him, “Alright.”

“I just…” He wavers again, head cocking to the side, and I’m fascinated by his hesitancy. “What it means… I’m unclear as to why you call me it,” he finally determines.

Suddenly overcome by how adorable his expression was, all confused and uncertain, I invade his personal space with a sly smile. “Sugar is sweet, _isn’t_ _it_?” I practically purr.

If androids could blush, I get the distinct feeling his face would be alight with color. In fact… is that a bit of blue I see beneath the pale skin of his cheeks? I feel my smile grow wolfish.

Connor begins to stammer out a response; _stammer_! When we’re interrupted by the sound of Hank exiting his restroom.

The android swivels around to watch his approach, as I disengage from the previous close proximity I’d held with him I walk past him to the other side of the living room to take off my gloves and set them on the coffee table. Sumo comes up to my side as I watch Hank look over at Connor, a small smirk on his face. Connor grins apparently pleased with his choice of outfit for Hank. I roll my eyes.

“Be a good dog, Sumo. I won’t be long.” Hank assures, before turning to me.

“I’m gonna stick around and clean this dump up, I’ll be sure to lock up after I’m done,” I inform him.

            My uncle walks up to me and puts a hand on my shoulder, “Thanks, Maggie.” He tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite fit on his face right anymore. He looks down, face falling with his gaze, “I’m sorry about what you had to see. Please don’t be mad at me anymore?”

            I let out a long-suffering sigh similar to the one he’d given me yesterday. “Yeah, Uncle Hank. It’s okay. Just try not to worry me so much anymore?” I give him an imploring look.

            He nods before I’m finished talking, eyes lifting to look me in mine. “I promise, Magnolia.”

            Shaking my head twice, I can feel the corners of my eyes sting, threatening to well into tears proper. He gathers me up into a hug, Connor’s observant stare be damned. I curl my arms around his shoulder as I squeeze him, cherishing this moment with my uncle. He squeezes me twice as harder, making it difficult for me to breathe. I don’t care, though. I just let him hug me until he’s done, feeling his need for the embrace greater than my own.

            Once he lets me go, he gives me a wave, “Thanks again, Maggie.”

            “Yeah, yeah. Goodbye, you old fart.” My voice vacillating with sentiment.

            Connor mimics Hank’s wave, saying, “Have a lovely night, Magnolia.”

            My face lightens at his words. I giggle with a wink, “See ya later, sugar.”

            The brunette becomes bashful again, and I zero in on his timidity like a hawk. I can see Hank throw a puzzled look over his shoulder, before he turns away shaking his head. They both leave, causing the house to feel deafeningly silent, even with the basketball game still on the tv. Sumo whines next to me for attention, so I crouch down and give him scratches behind the ears. “Connor is really cute, don’t you think?”

            He just cocks his puppy head to the side—much like the topic of my question would—like he could really understand me. I give him a peck on his wet nose, “Don’t worry, Sumo.” I grin down at him, “Do you wanna go for walkies?” I cheerfully enquire, which earns me an enthusiastic boof. Laughing at his reaction, I collect his leash hanging on the rack next to the front door and hook his collar.


	3. Chapter 3

            Jingling keys and muffled voices are the first thing I register upon waking up. More distinctly, I begin to differentiate between the nearly muted noise from the tv and whoever was entering the home. I still lay, groggy with exhaustion, on the couch. Reaching up a hand to my face, I scrub a hand down my face as I try to sit up. A groan escapes me as my back pops, sending a pleasant ache down my spine.

            “Maggie? The hell’re you still doin’ here this late?” Hank’s voice comes from behind me.

            Yawning, I stretch my hands above my head. “Sorry, Uncle Hank. Guess I fell asleep watching tv for a minute after I got done cleaning.” Sitting fully upright, I turn at the waist to face my uncle, scratching my arm. “What time is it?”

            “Just after one,” I hear Hank answer gruffly, not in a good mood. Which wasn’t uncommon, but he seemed more grouchy than usual.

            Twisting at the waist to face him, “What’s up your ass? Look how nice and sparkly your house is.” I turn to kneel, stomach leaning against the back rest. Imitating his low, rumbling voice, I mimic him, “Gee, thanks Mags. The place looks like one a ‘them fancy magazine houses. Everything all sanitized, no more trash lousing up the place or flies buzzing around.” When he starts to walk away towards the kitchen, I continue pestering him, “Say! You even alphabetized my records for me! You’re just the best! Did I mention you’re also super smart and pretty? Because you are! People never believe me when I tell them you’re my niece when the look at my ugly mug next to yours.”

            A slam echoes from the kitchen, reverberating around the house, followed by a shattering sound. I jump up from my seat, “Uncle Hank are you ok—.” My mood immediately plummets right down to the floor to rest with the shattered glass glittering on the tiles.

            “Would you just give it a fuckin’ rest for once,” Hank’s comes out in a grit filtered through is bared teeth. I can see the side of his face as he leans against the counter, eyes squeezed shut. He’s barely hiding the fact that he’s swaying like hell.

            My mood sours further, “Did you drive home drunk?”

            “What the fuck is it to you? I’m a grown adult. I can do whatever the fuck I want!” He spins around and nearly falls on his ass.

            I start screaming back at him, my temper rising, “Look at yourself! You can barely stand, asswipe! Where the hell is Connor? Why didn’t he drive you home? Better yet, why didn’t you cab it?”

            “Pfeh! I left that prick to freeze in the snow. Who the hell knows where he is? Maybe he’ll fall off a bridge,” he laughs at his own sick joke.

            Shaking my head in disgust, I approach him and take him by the arm. “That’s it, Hank. We’re putting your ass to bed before you drink yourself to death.”

            Just as quickly as the words leave my mouth, his arm is ripped from my grip. “That’s the fucking point, you shithead. Now get the hell out of my house!! I’m not drunk enough to be manhandled like you and that prick android did earlier!”

            Roughly, he grabs me by the shoulders and spins me, before shoving me towards the living room. “Well, isn’t that just fucking typical, Hank.” I start to gather my things, shoving them in my pockets and shrugging on my coat and shoes. “Just keep pushing, right?” My back is facing him as he watches me storm towards the door, “Keep pushing everyone away, and that’s what’s gonna fucking happen.” I shake my head and see a spark of hurt glance across his face before contorting back into drunken rage. “I try to reach out to you. I try to be there. But you won’t let me, Hank! I can only do so much before I start to get the idea that you really _don’t_ want me around.”

            He starts to talk, but I just laugh over him, no real humor in it. “Save it. I’ve heard enough of your drunken bullshit for one night. Drink some water and sleep on your side, Hank.” I open the door, lowly grinding, “I don’t want to have to find you asphyxiated on your own vomit.” The door slams shut behind me, probably shaking the whole house. It does visibly cause the windows of the living room to rattle.

            My feet stomp my way down the deck and towards my bike, a thin layer of snow covering it. I groan in frustration when I see that there’s snow inside my helmet that I’d stupidly left hanging off my bike’s handle. Pissed, I open the hatch under my seat and toss the helmet in, opting to trade my safety to go without a face full of snow. I sink the key into the ignition after fishing my keys out. Looking up towards Hank’s home as I begin to back out, I see him through the window, still standing in the same spot I’d left him. The only difference was he was staring at me as I left. When he realized I’d caught him, he spins around and heads back into his kitchen, presumably to continue to feed his vice.

            That had always been his way of coping. When Cole died, he drank. When his wife and him fought, he drank. When she left him not even three months after Cole’s death, he drank. It was like he was too scared to kill himself in any tangible way. Instead he chose to kill himself day by day. The revolver lying next to his cataleptic frame from earlier that night blazes into my mind like a hot iron.

            Ignoring the sickening twist in my gut I shake my head, hair and snow alike whipping against my face like icy needles.

_He… he was a coward. He’d never actually do anything…_

______________________________________________________________________________

 

As I was driving, I came up to an intersection with a red light that I almost ran. I stop just in time to sit with my wheel just tickling the white line of the pedestrian path.

Nerves prickle all over my skin from the frigid air and tense atmosphere I’d just left, yet still clung to me. I try and relax against my bike seat, try to shake off the thoughts that chased after me from my tiff with Hank.

My curled leg bounces against the foot mount, the other supporting me and the bike’s weight stiffly. I notice movement out of the corner of my eye and casually see who else is up to know good at this late of an hour. I couldn’t quite make out who they were, but I could see the familiar glowing accents that accompanied androids designations. I had just started to squint, when they walked into the light of a streetlamp.

“Connor?!” I shout. The man looks up at me, surprise written plainly on his features, with a mix of being pulled out of some intense contemplations. You and me both, sugar. I vaguely wondered if the source of our thoughts were one in the same.

            The light turns green in front of me, and I turn instead of going straight like I had originally planned. Pulling up beside him, I throw the kickstand out and leave the bike to idle as I swing off.

“Magnolia. I’m surprised to see you out at such a late hour. In such weather, too.” His voice is polite as usual, if constrained.

Pulling my fingers through my hair, I sigh, “Yeah. I ended up crashing on Hank’s couch. I just left his place.” My voice sounded odd, awkward. Making small talk on the side of the road after an intense argument tended to do that to a person.

“How is the Lieutenant?” Connor tries to sound more normal.

Following his lead, I do as well. Though I can’t hide some of the anger that seeps through, “He was a fuckhead. That’s why I left.”

He nods, the errant strand of deep brown that hangs over his forehead bobbing with it. “Ah,” he sounds dismayed, lips pulling in a grimace. “I think that would be my fault. Our… last discussion didn’t go splendidly. I think I said something that upset him.”

I try to grin at him, bending at the waist with my hands in my jacket pockets to catch his lowered stare. When he looks at me I let my smile grow, “I’m sure whatever you said wasn’t that bad. He just gets like that sometimes. Ever since…” I suddenly scowl, warring with myself about whether or not I should tell him exactly _why_ Hank’s turned into such an asshole.

“Ever since what?” Came his cautious prompt. I just stare at the ground, still unsure. Connor presses on, “Hank began to speak of something at the bridge where we argued. But then he ceased to speak about it; demanded it was nothing.” My boot scuffs a line in the steadily gathering layer of snow that fell on the city of Detroit. “I mentioned his son Cole.” He pauses, and I can sense him gauging my reaction, or lack thereof, as I felt myself merely stiffen. “I discovered within my databanks that he, regrettably, passed in October of 2035.” His tone is as quiet as the city around us. I barely catch his last sentence as I feel all the air being sucked out of me, barbs of icy dread beginning to spear in my gut. His words float between us like the glittering flakes that fall from the inky black heavens above, swirling like sprites dancing in a gale. The wind shifts, just barely, causing my hair and his tie to shiver along with it.

The man takes a step towards me, and I become further rigid in response, hands now bunched up into fists at my sides. “Magnolia?” His voice is soft, barely detectable. Like he’s approaching an injured animal. Truthfully? He was. I felt like a bear caught in a trap, and I didn’t know what to do.

At this point, I felt like he had to deal with Hank enough that he deserved to know. At present, however, I truly did not want to explicate to him about the night my baby cousin and uncle got into a terrible car accident. About how he rushed off to the hospital to save his son. Only for Hank to find the lone doctor on shift was inaccessible and that the procedure would have to be done by an android surgeon. Only to later be told that that very android was unable to save his only son, because of some unanticipated impediment that the android had not been equipped to handle.

How could I possibly explain all that in a way that, not only could he understand, but that I could actually speak into words without choking.

I felt a hand grasp my arm, warmth seeping through the thick leather of my jacket sleeve. My gaze snaps up to see Connor’s concerned face. In this light, his eyes looked nearly black. All warmth and light absent, like his eyes would swallow me up like a black hole. He was reading me, damn him. Damn him, because I knew he could probably read my like a book, with how exposed I felt.

I hadn’t thought about that night, really thought, frame by frame, what happened. In the three years since it happened, I tried to bottle or block what I could. The fact that I was trying to process this three-year-old grief in front of a stranger, as well meaning as he was, at the same time, had me feeling bare. Vulnerable. I didn’t fucking like it.

Unable to break my gaze from his, I swallow thickly. My mouth opens and closes a few times, trying to speak. He does for me, “I understand this a complicated matter.”

The obviousness of his comment startled a laugh out of me. Cold, bitter thing that it was. His hand was still on me, gripping my arm. It felt like a lifeline standing on this cold street. I’m silent for a few more moments, before raising my eyes to his again. There is a bit more steadiness to me now, as I recover some of confidence. “You got any plans for the next while, Connor?”

He blinks, before I see his LED flash for a split second. “No. My only instructions are to remain on standby at the Detroit Police Station until further directives are given. Why?” His cocks in his customary way.

Smiling, I narrow my eyes, “Good. Here’s another question for you, sugar. You ever ridden a motorcycle?” I wait to watch his reaction.

His response is immediate, “I have not.” Though his expression does look like he’s figured me out, partly.

“Well, that’s about to change.” I turn on my heel and remount my bike that had been idling this whole time. My legs hug the sleek frame, warmth spreading from the engine and into my thighs. I pat the saddle behind me, “Hop on, cowboy.”

He stands there, as if unsure, before finally giving in to what must be his curiosity. “I thought I was ‘sugar’,” comes his snarky remark as he climbs aboard. The suspension squeaks under his weight, before bouncing back up. Tilting the transportation upright, I feel our combined weight, getting used to it.

“How silly of me to forget,” I shoot back. “Better hold onto me, _sugar_.” Putting emphasis on the pet name. “Wouldn’t want to see you scratch that pretty face of yours,” I coo.

Hesitantly, I feel his hands rest on my sides, unsure of what to do. I shake my head, “That won’t do,” I say as I grab one of his arms and pull him closer. He’s forced to scoot forward, that familiar firm chest pressing against my back as it had done briefly back at Hank’s. I curl the arm I hold properly snug around my waist, and he shyly follows suit by himself with the other. “There you go.” I praise.

His voice is jittery, staticky almost. Like a radio losing reception. “Th-this is highly irregular.”

I just laugh, high a choppy, a brief snort escaping me. “Well, I would hope so. Or do you often find yourself hopping onto a motorcycle with some random woman?”

 I rev the engine, not expecting a response. I hear him quietly murmur, mouth closer to my ear than anticipated, sending tingles shooting down my spine and to my toes. “You’re not just some random woman.” The brunette almost sounds offended at the label.

Deciding to ignore it, I begin to pull away. Nonetheless I feel a smile tugging my lips, no matter how hard I try not to. As we pick up speed, Connor’s arms tighten to hold me closer, sending a thrill through me. His warmth had begun to seep through the leather clinging to my back. I hadn’t realized how cold I’d gotten.

 Again, I try to ignore the insubordinate feelings his proximity had started to stir within me.

  _This boy was trouble_ , I realize uneasily.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

            We arrive at my apartment complex, taking more time than usual as I had to take corners more slowly due to the slipping hazard covering the road and the added weight of Connor. I take the decline leading to the automated door of the underground garage, hand gently squeezing the breaks to ease our descent. I call to Connor to lower his feet to hold our weight, as I lean over to punch in the code. On command, he does as I instruct, easily holding both of our weight and the bike’s like it was made from cotton.

            When the door begins to raise with a loud mechanical whir, I lean back into place and he raises his feet just as I give the bike gas. Navigating to my floor I park in my designated spot, and put down the kickstand, swiftly turning off the bike as well.

            Climbing off with Connor, I gesture for him to follow me towards the elevator. “I’m on the twenty-fifth floor,” my voice echoes off of the concrete walls. When we get into the elevator he summarily punches the correct button, he casually leans back against the wall to wait. I follow suit, crossing my legs in front of me as I lean with my hands against the bar behind me. The lift jumps for a moment, before steadily beginning its ascent towards the requested floor with a soft whooshing noise accompanying it.

Movement and flashing light catches my eye out of the corner. Turning my gaze towards it, I notice a thick, shiny coin bouncing from knuckle to knuckle of one of Connor’s hands.

            He notices my attention, apparently, because I self-satisfied smirk graces his lips. Ostensibly pleased to see my face light up in captivation. Clearly having a predisposition to please, he begins to show-off a particularly impressive maneuver. The gleaming coin glitters back and forth between his hands as he continuously catches it with a deft surety. With one final flick, just as the elevator chimes that we reached our floor, it spins several dozen times in the air above him, before he catches it between two fingers at his waist.

            I clap and quietly cheer at his show, and with a cocky smile, he gives a brief bow, pocketing the coin.

            “You got anymore tricks up those perfectly tailored sleeves, detective?” The flirtation spills out of my mouth before I can stop it, as I walk towards my apartment. I can hear his following footsteps as he trails behind me.

            “I suppose that remains to be seen,” is all the response I get, a playful quality slipping into his own words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter because today is my spouse's birthday! But, hope you enjoy it! <3 Let me know what you think in those comments! I love to hear from people! Also thanks for the kudos. :)


End file.
